


taking the cure, so i can be quiet

by connorswhisk



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Character Study, I cried while writing this, i am so so sorry, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Stanley Uris takes a bath.But before he does, he writes.





	taking the cure, so i can be quiet

The call is brief, and over with quickly.

And yet it feels like an eternity.

He sets his phone back on the table. Mutters something to Patty about going upstairs for a bath. He will take one. He thinks he knew before he even picked up the phone that he would.

But he has something to do first.

Stanley Uris writes a letter. He copies it, and then he copies it again. And then again. Over and over again, until there are seven envelopes sitting in front of him.

One for Patty. Because he loves her. She won’t understand why he’s done what he’s going to do. And she shouldn’t have to go through this. Never. She should never have married Stan, because he’s always been too stiff, too uptight, too fucking _scared._ She deserves better, always has, always will.

But Stan writes her a letter. It’s the least he can do.

One for Bill. Stuttering Bill, Big Bill, Billy Denbrough. Out of everyone in Stan’s teenage life, he had been the bravest. A natural-born leader. The kind of person who stands out, not because they’re vibrant or big, but because they possess that certain quality of selflessness that’s inescapable, that’s invasive, that’s _filling._

As a child, Stan would have followed Bill to the ends of the Earth. And maybe he still would, if things were different.

One for Ben. Ben had always been so nice. He had just had a homely ambience to him. He had been kind smiles, and infectious laughs, and shared candy bars, and the perfect example of a best friend. Someone you could always count on, no matter what.

Stan wonders where he is now, what he’s doing. Maybe he’s rich. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s married. Maybe he’s still holding out for Beverly, even after all this time.

And one for Beverly, too. Stan had been unsure of her at first, too blinded by rumors and whispers and notes passed in class to realize that behind all of that was a girl who had just wanted to _live._ A girl so full of energy and life that once she was passionate about something, once she set her mind to it, you had to be, too. You wanted what she did.

She used to share her cigarettes with Stan. And once she’d kissed him, just before she left for Oregon. It hadn’t been romantic, it had been...soft. A quick one, a platonic kiss. Shared between friends.

A goodbye.

One for Eddie. Because he had been like Stan, wary, nervous, anxious. He’d listened. He’d joked, and he’d made you laugh, but he’d _listened._ And he would grin whenever Stan poked fun at Richie, and he would buy Stan a Baby Ruth from the convenience store, and he wouldn’t expect him to pay him back, either.

As an adult, Eddie probably isn’t that different, Stan thinks. Because how could he be? He’s Eddie. He wouldn’t have changed.

One for Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike the Man. Someone so kind and joyful it had been intoxicating. Richie had used to joke that Stan and Mike were dating, that they were “regular old grandma-pleasers.” It had been something Stan used to roll his eyes at. Now, he would do anything to have Mike right here, right now.

But Mike had called him. Stan doesn’t resent him for that, and never could, but Mike had called him.

And Stan had remembered.

One for Richie. Because out of everybody, Richie had been Stan’s closest friend. He’d loved all the Losers, of course he had. But Richie had been the constant in Stan’s life. At first Stan hadn’t been sure. He’d thought Richie was just all terrible jokes and shitty Voices, cursing at Stan while playing him at Street Fighter, making fun of Stan’s kippah and his Torah readings. Until he didn’t do those things. Richie had been the only friend to come to Stan’s bar mitzvah. And then Stan had understood.

And he hopes, he hopes, that Richie is happy. Or that he will be. He misses him.

But despite all of this, despite his friends, despite his wife, despite his promise, Stan is scared. He knows deep down that out of everyone else, he is the one person who realized. Who knew as soon as Mike had called them.

The clown.

Fuck, Stan’s a coward. A worthless fucking coward. Whose friends don’t even need him, never have needed him. Why should they?

He sighs, the entire weight of what he’s about to do, what he _must_ do laid into that sigh.

The letters are copied. Sealed in their respective envelopes, and addressed properly. Stan leaves them out on the desk in the study.

He’s said all that he can say.

And then he goes into the bathroom. Runs the water, turning the taps until they can’t turn anymore. Stripping off his clothes and setting his glasses down, and hardly caring that the water’s too hot. Not even feeling it all.

And, _Hell,_ he had thought, as he’d crossed the cold, tiled floor and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. _I’m probably doing them a favor._

And something inside him seems to say, _You are. Because you’re weak, the weakest, and they don’t need you._

_They don’t need you._

Bill had made him swear. Had made him promise to come back. And here Stan is, throwing it all out the window.

When Bill had cut his hand, Stan had felt the horrible urge to grab the shard of green Coke bottle and chuck it across the field.

But he’d shaken himself out of it, and cried out when the glass had broken skin.

He doesn’t cry out this time.

_I swear it, Bill. I swear._

He knows this had to happen. He understands. He knows this was meant to be. That this is fate.

And, as he lays back in the tub and takes his final breaths, Stan sees his friends.

Bill.

Ben.

Bev.

Eddie.

Mike.

Richie.

And he knows that they could never hate him. That they’ll always be there for him.

He closes his eyes.

He rests his head.

And as Stanley Uris dies, he dies with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> i had a mental breakdown over stanley uris at approximately 10:30 pm tonight, and as a result, we have this badly-written thing that i cried over while writing://
> 
> title taken from needle in the hay by elliott smith


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